J. C. Jones VI - The Awful Office

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Washington D.C.

Trouble in the Oval Office this morning during a visit from one J. C. Jones—formerly known as Jesus Christ. The Savior was on a goodwill tour; stopping at the White House in an effort to rid the nation of a cyst that’s been enveloping the land of the free.

“Welcome to the Oval Office, J. C.,” said the president. “I’m told that nasty hooded wretch at your side is Mary Magdalene.”

“You mean whore,” said the White House lady minister.

“And why aren’t you wearing a tie?” said the vice president. “You look Like a gutter snipe.”

“You disgrace this office with your slovenly ways,” said the White House press secretary. “You give Christianity a bad name. Me? I wear the cross. See? Where’s your cross, demon?”

“You don’t wanna go there,” said J. C. “Mary, get a good grip on my smiting finger before I do something stupid.”

“And, believe me,” said the president, “I know more about Christianity than anyone. I sell bibles to my flock. For the measly price of twenty thousand dollars you get a gold-embossed edition that comes with a platinum-plated Get Out of Jail Free card. Just show it to the arresting officer and you’ll be released, receive an apology, and handed a voucher good for a free meal at a McDonald’s of your choice. If you tell them I sent you, you’ll get extra sweet and sour sauce with your chicken nuggets.”

“The Bible?” said J. C. “You want to know a little secret? I never read it. It was after my time. It’s been on my summer reading list, so I checked it out it out on Amazon, and you know something? Not one good blurb. Not one titillating, ‘It gave me a case of the frights,’ said Stephen King. Or I was clued to my toilet seat for hours, said Oprah. Thank you Bible!

“Besides, it’s was written by my brethren. No way they got the story right. If I read it today I’d probably have a good court case. But they’re all dead and broke these days. So, I passed and went straight to the Romance section. Seems I’ve a lot to learn since my days of wooing Mary with a net full of fish and a sprig of mandrake behind my ears—I was told it would drive her crazy.”

“Like to a sanitarium,” said Mary. “I hate fish. You’d think the son of God could at least come across with the occasional leg of lamb. But, no. It was always the damn Tilapia. Him out there on the boat all day, yucking it up with the boys, leaving me at home to chop stinky fish heads for the evening meal! Then having my lips blow up twice their size after nuzzling his ear. Who knew I was allergic to mandrake?”

“I think we should get on with the problem at hand, Mary. And that’s why I’ve invited a special guest.”

“Guest?” said the president. “Not happening. I have no one else on my nasty guest list. You two were invited to my Oval Office Inquisition to get a good tongue lashing. I’ll continue with—”

“But he’s already here,” said  J. C. “So, please . . . excuse the theatrics as we dim the lights; pardon the drama while we envelop the room in a dark and gloomy mist; sit back in awe as we shine a light on a man who’s many things to many people. He’s—”

At that, Jesus gave Mary a nudge.

“I’m typing to Alexa as fast as I can, J. C.”

“—a priest, paleontologist, wanna-be exorcist, and one of filmdoms spookiest protagonists. Ladies and gentlemen . . . Father Lankester Merrin!”

“Is that Tubular Bells I’m hearing?” said the Vice President.

“He’s a fictional character,” shouted the lady minister. “Boo! Fraud! Fake new!”

“If I can turn water into wine,” said J. C. “I can make fiction into a reality. And tonight I go one step further by introducing the marvelously dark and gloomy blue-eyed wonder . .  Max von Sydow!

“Max was gracious enough to take a break from his heavenly reward to reprise the role he made famous. Take it away.”

“Where’s that old devil-dog Satan hiding?” said Max.”

“Take your pick. But I’d start with the big fella in the red tie.”

“Sir, I will now place my hand over your heart and recite a spooky—”

“So sorry, Max,” said a raspy voice from within the big man. “It’s me Satan. Trust me on this. No power of Christ is going to compel this one. To tell you the truth, he scares even me. I have to take every other week off to compose myself and ask a question: have I enveloped his soul, or has he enveloped mine? Even that little evil mustachioed one had a dog to temper his dark side. Didn’t work, but he made the effort. Look around. You see a dog? Of course not. Not six months into his reign and all hell has broken loose. He’s got 42 more to go. I’m just along for the ride and taking notes. I’d go preach your sermon from a safer distance before you’re all dragged into his circle of doom. Oh, and happy Friday the 13th.”

“Well, this has been a thankless role,” said Max. “Next time give me something with Ingmar Bergman on it. At least I'd get to be a bit sexy.”

“Alexa, stop,” said Mary, “Play Spirit in the Sky as we make our exit.”

“Our work is not done yet,” said J. C. “I’ll have more for you on next week’s podcast. Until then, peace, love and everlasting hope . . . despite the odds.”

Photo courtesy of Wiki Comos:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Font_Gate_of_the_White_House_on_...